


i won't tell if you don't

by Bugggghead



Series: Bughead Drabbles & One Shots [36]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dom Jughead Jones, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Journalist Betty Cooper, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones, Strangers to Lovers, Sub Betty Cooper, Vaginal Fingering, but never really interacted, featherlight dom/sub undertones, i make zero apologies, investigating bughead, of course they have to keep up the ruse, really who can stay within labels when they both just want each other so badly, slight switch dynamics, they both grew up in riverdale, what happens when they see each other as adults under intimate circumstances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17815970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: Even though Betty and Jughead have known of each other for years, they’ve never really crossed paths. What happens when they run into each other while investigating the same thing, neither knowing the other is simply playing a part?ORBetty poses as a madame at Thistlehouse while investigating the resurgence of Jingle Jangle and Jughead poses as a John while hot on the same trail.





	i won't tell if you don't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BettySnooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettySnooper/gifts).



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> (thanks to @oryoucouldstay for the beautiful gif)
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> So this little fic is dedicated to the ever amazing @shibbycat! She does SO much for me and the fandom as a whole that a little group of us got together and thought - why not write her a series of fics tailored to her specific interests! And now we’re here! Hahaha. Also a special shoutout to @jane-hoppers for betaing this and making it about a million times better. <3

 

-

 

A sickeningly sweet smell permeates the air, thick ribbons of scented smoke from too much incense dance down the halls of the building in a siren's song. 

 

Jughead would have never guessed he had walked into what was formerly known as Thistlehouse. It’s Riverdale’s best kept secret and he thinks there’s more than meets the eye of the already illicit sex trade going on behind the doors he’s never broached before. It’s a bit unconventional, posing as a client for one of Penelope’s ‘madames’, but he’s fresh out of leads and had decided a few days prior to dive headfirst into the Jingle Jangle investigation. The bright, buzzing sign reads “The Maple Club” in fancy scripture. The neon lights flash behind it, bathing the entrance in a sensual glow. 

 

“Mr. Jones,” a voice calls from behind, then the soft click of a door closing before he turns to see the matriarch herself. 

 

“Mrs. Blossom.”

 

“I didn’t expect to ever see you here at my fine establishment.”

 

“Fine’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

 

Penelope’s lips twist into an eerie smile. “I’d be careful what you say, Mr. Jones. My girls specialize in a certain kind of treatment and I’m sure they’d be eager to correct your bad manners.”

 

Jughead stays silent as she walks around him and settles in a chair behind an ornate cherrywood desk that serves as the reception.

 

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Jones?”

 

Even though she’s posed a question, the arch of her brow and still half tilted lips tells him he doesn’t need to say much of anything. She already knows - or at least, she  _ thinks _ she does. “Companionship.” Then, just to be safe, “F.P. sent me.”

 

“Well then, we can certainly  _ assist _ with that.” The red-headed woman pulls an unmarked black book from the desk and places it in front of him. “Pick your poison,” she says, the simple words sending an involuntary chill down his spine.

 

He waves off the book with a flick of his wrist. “Your newest addition, please.” He knows most of the girls in the rooms up above them, having been raised in Riverdale alongside the majority of the faces he would surely find artfully photographed in the book. He wants someone he doesn’t know, the guise of anonymity needed for this particular rendezvous to be successful.

 

Penelope stands, an indiscernible gleam in her eye. “Right this way.”

 

-

 

Betty fiddles with the flimsy lace ensemble she had agreed to wear for this particular venture. She worries about looking wholly out of place even with the blood red uniform hugging her curves exactly the way it’s meant to. She’s certainly not a ‘madame’, not in the same sense as the rest of the girls in the brothel tonight. She’s positive that she's the only one who hopes they don’t receive a client. 

 

She’s no stranger to sex, but it’s always been of her own choice and at her will. Going to her aunt to ask for the job under  the guise of needing ‘extra money’ seeming plausible enough, Penelope had readily agreed to give her a test run for the night. Ideally, if she wasn’t matched with anyone, she’d have plenty of time to ‘accidentally’ happen upon the locked doors she intended to pick with one of the many bobby pins holding back her loose waves. 

 

She’d been following the Jingle Jangle trade in high school, writing a scathing expose on the late Clifford Blossom (yes, her uncle) and his hand in the illegal drug ring in Riverdale. She’d thought it was put to rest when his body was committed to the ground years before, but lately, she’s seen the signs of another resurgence in their sleepy little town. 

 

Looking into one of the full-length mirrors affixed to the wall, Betty watches herself, palms running up her sides and dipping with the curve of her waist. Her fingers flutter over the translucent lace covering her chest. She feels sexy. Red was never an Alice Cooper approved color, but as she purses her lips, observing the swathe of scarlet seduction on her curves and the way it shapes them so perfectly, she thinks she might have missed out on something. 

 

Everything she’s wearing is red - from the too-high heels to the clip in her hair - the Blossom’s signature color adorns every inch of clothing on her skin. 

 

The echo of heavy footfalls against the wooden stairs shocks her back to the present. A client must have just arrived. She can hear the muffled sounds of voices filtering down the hall, drawing closer as she shifts from one foot to the other, balancing precariously in the heels. 

 

Her eyes dance around the room, bouncing between the duvet on the bed to the red velvet fainting couch on the opposite wall. Penelope has certainly gone full tilt on her commitment to theme, she thinks ruefully. The click-clack of heels grows louder, a thud of what she thinks must be boots sounding every other step. She sucks in a breath and darts over to the bed, perching herself on the end and crossing then uncrossing her legs. She shifts to the side, the profile of her toned limbs stretched across the blood red blankets and leans back on her elbows. 

 

The squeak of the knob turns and she sits up once more, straightening her posture in a way she hopes looks poised. She's never really tried to seduce anyone, she'd always had just fine luck on her own, and, she thinks, she probably won't have to work at all towards it today either. The gentleman broaching the threshold any second is already here after all, and for her nonetheless. 

 

“The safeword is syrup.” Penelope stands by the doorframe, speaking to her suitor for the night and extending a hand into the room, ushering him inside. 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

The voice is foreign, yet slightly familiar. One she has probably heard around town but can’t seem to place. She sees the Serpent jacket first, an embroidered crest with a two-headed snake emblazoned on the back of the leather. Next, a thick head of dark hair comes into view as he slips past Penelope, still facing away but inching closer with each step.

 

He wraps a hand around the knob, nodding as Penelope disappears back into the hall before pushing the door closed once again. His hands look rough, rugged, worn in a way that only time can do. 

 

It takes Betty all of two seconds to recognize and realize exactly who her companion for the next hour is. The first second after he spins on the heel of his boot is spent appraising his form. He’s filled out more than she remembers - taller, broader than he was in high school. Her eyes pull upwards from the scuffed black boots over his dark jeans and the same shirt adorned with a single ‘S’ that she remembers seeing him in around town. The jacket still looks the same, a bit more worn-in as evidenced by the deep creases and the signature shine of new leather now dull and faded. The second second is spent staring at his face. Soft lines are folded around his eyes. The crease above his brows and five o clock shadow do all the work of reminding her they’re no longer in their teens. 

 

But if he recognizes her, and truthfully she hopes he doesn’t, he doesn’t say a word about it. The way he sways with every step breathes confidence into the room. She finds herself hoping to capture some of it as he nears the bed. Only then does she realize she has yet to say a word. 

 

“Good evening. I’m-” Betty pauses. In all of her careful preparation, she hadn’t even considered a stage name. She certainly can’t say her real name. If he hadn’t recognized her before, he surely would after if she gave it away. “-I’m B.” Not that the single letter was much better, but at least it wasn’t a flashing neon sign saying ‘REMEMBER ME?!’

 

“Well, aren’t we a pair.” She can feel his gaze gliding over her skin, curving around the red lace and skimming over her chest. She can see it, too. He lingers on her breasts as he slips the heavy leather off of his shoulders. It slides with a heavy thunk to the floor. “B and J, a match made in heaven, right?”

 

-

 

“Right... or hell. Your pick,” she says carefully, clearly calculating the single syllable as he takes in the vision before him.

 

Of all the people he’d expected to see waiting on the ostentatious bed inside a room in Penelope’s brothel, Betty Cooper wasn’t even on the radar. Despite growing up in the same small town and even having a handful of friends who’d crossed the line separating the north and south over the years, he’d never really interacted much with her. Sure, he used to watch her twirl around in a short skirt on the occasional Friday he let his best friend and fellow Serpent, Toni Topaz, drag him along to Riverdale High to see her own girlfriend who just so happened to be the captain of the squad. He’d also read her scathing exposes on the injustices between the town’s distinct divide. But her soft pastel wardrobe and ‘goody two shoes’ reputation had always kept them separated by more than just physical distance. 

 

Jughead can't quite tell if she recognizes him. For a split second he thinks she might, but then she says her name is ‘B’ and a sultry smile curves between her cheeks and he thinks it might just be his imagination. He would be lying if he said she looked like the same straight A, all american girl he remembered. Now, with intricate red lace covering only a small portion of her toned body, the image of who he once knew to be Betty Cooper is replaced with the siren slowly rising from the bed.

 

“On second thought, I’ll have to go with hell.” 

 

She laughs and steps forward slowly, one heel clicking against the wood and then the other. It feels like an eternity passes before  she closes the distance between them. 

 

“What brings you here tonight, J?” 

 

He thinks of saying the same thing he’d said to Penelope not long before - companionship, but the word sticks in his throat. He isn’t here for her, though, right this second he wonders if he should be. The purpose of the trip is to investigate, to rip the crimson cover off the brothel he’s pretty sure is simply a front for more nefarious business they’re running somewhere on the premise. Remembering her propensity for a good scoop and well known investigative nature, he considers telling her. It’s as though his mouth wants to form the words, but his brain thankfully catches up before they spill unhindered from his lips. 

 

He settles on, “You,” reaching forward to press his palm against her waist, curving his fingers into the soft flesh of her back. 

 

There is no guise of space, no veil of nonchalance within the four wood-lined walls he’s found himself in. She is a ‘woman of the night’ and just for a few hours - he is her gentleman caller. So, he plays the part effortlessly, letting his teenage fantasy of blonde hair and lean legs come to life. 

 

Her smile, if possible, widens at that. Her head dips and he takes one more step forward, effectively pressing himself against her form. His arm slides all the way around the curve of her waist and he hooks a finger under her chin to tilt it up. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, B,” he tuts, arching a brow.

 

“In your dreams, J.” 

 

-

 

Betty can feel her heart thumping in her ears. He’s close enough for her to lean in and kiss, the sudden urge to feel his lips melt beneath her own nearly overtakes her. But escorts don’t kiss, she tells herself, leaning back - and at least for tonight, that’s who she is. Confidence washes over her as she straightens up, slipping from his arms and turning towards the bed. She is a professional, or at least  _ he  _ thinks she is, and she has to play that part to a tee. The way his eyes had lingered on her lips just moments before had nearly blown her cover, and she absolutely could not have that, even if her body tried to betray her mind. 

 

Stepping back slowly, she feels the soft plush of the blanket brush up against the backs of her thighs. With one finger crooked in his direction, she calls him forward, and to her surprise and utter delight, he obeys. Lowering herself down onto the mattress, she kicks off the ridiculous heels and scoots back to the middle of the bed. He’s standing at the end with a brow arched in her direction. 

 

“Care to join me?” It comes out surprisingly smooth,  a hint of the confidence she’s trying so hard to harness. 

 

He doesn’t respond with words, instead pressing his knees into the soft mattress as he scales the length of the bed. 

 

Then his body is covering hers, rough jeans rubbing against her legs and heat radiating straight through his shirt and the scraps of lace that separate their bare skin. 

 

Warm puffs of air creep across her collarbone just before she feels his lips press against the crook of her neck. Tilting her head to the side, her eyes flutter closed and she eases into the intimate act. It shouldn’t feel as surprising as it does, goosebumps rising in the wake of his warm lips as they nip and suck up the column of her throat. 

 

When he pulls back, it’s only for a millisecond to switch sides, then his tongue is laving her neck again. She can't help the moan that he draws from between her lips.

 

It's been a while since her last date and even longer since any hands other than her own touched the tender flesh his currently occupy. 

 

Sure she's had boyfriends, a few relationships that fizzled out over months of missionary and talks between that hardly kept her interest. She's even had a few hookups in the past thanks to an app she's since deleted. But nothing had come close to igniting the need burning in her core. Nothing had come close to the way her body now feels, as though every inch he touches is on fire from the blaze in his eyes. 

 

The strap of her lingerie is pulled to the side as his mouth ravishes the skin, and Betty thinks, at the very least, even if the hunch she has about Thistlehouse goes nowhere, at least she's getting something out of this endeavor.

 

-

 

Jughead grips the thin lace covering her hip. He squeezes with more pressure than he should probably apply, lets his mouth wander, nipping and sucking at the skin across her chest. He can see her breasts rising and falling with each stunted breath. The pressure in his jeans is damn near unbearable as he cants them forward, pressing his hips into hers and groaning against her skin from the relief. 

 

Investigation aside, he's on a strict time limit. Penelope was crystal clear that he had sixty minutes before she'd expect to see him downstairs and he’s loathe to waste a single second of it. Betty looked better than even his wildest fantasies and the way she moaned in his ear and leaned into his touch has his rational thoughts trailing too far behind to keep up. 

 

Being in a gang had always afforded him a certain reputation, even if he had never quite felt like the right fit for those whispered words. He wasn't entirely inexperienced. He'd had hookups and flings, but never anything too serious. Even though a small portion of him craved that companionship, it paled in comparison to the part of him that always needed more. And now, with Betty responding in kind to every nip of his teeth, the bite from her nails across his shoulders have him forgetting anything else even exists. It's heady, the want growing deep within, roaring back to life years after it had started. In high school, the idea of the Northside princess being pliant under his touch had haunted his dreams. Now, as adults, he has left the implications of their tryst at the door and finally allowed himself to sink into the fantasy that's currently unfolding. That's what Thistlehouse provides, after all, a depraved escape from reality.

 

Nimble fingers draw the thin straps from her shoulders, tugging the material until her arms are free. She doesn't protest as he reaches behind, lips still sealed on a section of her chest now bruising beneath his tongue. Her moans egg him on as the clasp pops open and the lace slackens around her breasts.

 

Trapping the material between his teeth, he inches it down to expose her chest.

 

-

 

The heels of her palms press against his chest, pushing him back as she sits up. His mouth practically waters at the sight of her half exposed sitting up on the bed and she finds the dark hue of his eyes to be empowering. Swiftly, she grips the material between her fingers and pulls it up, over her head and then off, tossing it to the side before reaching forward to do the same to his. 

 

Next, her fingers toy with the buckle of his belt, but before she can unlatch it, his hand firmly covers her own.

 

“Not yet,” he practically growls.

 

The command in his tone is enough to send another wave of desire straight to her pulsing core. 

 

With wide eyes, she looks up to find him staring at her, arm outstretched in invitation. Her hand slips into his and he pulls her up before shuffling back to where she had just been. His back is up against the headboard now and he presses the heel of his palm into his obvious erection, eyes still fixated on her form just a foot away. 

 

The click of his belt being opened is quickly followed by the pop of a button and then the drag of the zipper. But he doesn't push his pants off. Crooking a finger to beckon her forward, he says, “Come here.”

 

She all but scrambles to close the distance, settling a knee on either side of him and hoving just inches above his lap.

 

“Now, B, this is my time and I call the shots, understood?”

 

Gulping, Betty nods, stuttering out, “Y-yes.”

 

“Good girl.”

 

She preens at the praise, letting her knees slide against the bed as she sinks down on top of his thighs.

 

“Do you like that? Do you want to be my good girl?”

 

Betty feels the heat spreading through every inch of her practically naked body as she says, “Yes,” with more conviction this time.

 

“Good.” His hands slide around her waist and he tugs her forward until her breasts are pressed against his bare chest and his lips land on hers.

 

His kiss isn't soft or sweet, the fire from his lips seering her from the inside out. He coaxes her mouth open with a small swipe of his tongue and she finds herself diving in, pushing down on his hips and carding her fingers through unruly strands of thick obsidian hair. As she tightens her grip and tugs, he moans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He may think he's in control here, but she's been with enough men to know how the dynamic truly works. She has the power to stop or start their experience, but she can't even imagine calling it quits now.

 

Their tongues tangle as his hands sweep her sides, coming up to brush against the underside of her breast and she whimpers. He does it again, swiping the pad of his thumb higher to graze her nipple and she wiggles on his lap, seeking some sort of friction.

 

“Patience, baby,” he whispers against her mouth.

 

-

 

It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to pin her down and fuck her until she’s seeing stars. But he manages to reign it in. He keeps his pants up to his hip, button popped, and zipper open to relieve some pressure, but still covered nonetheless. He limits his fingers to merely brushing her skin, but he can’t stop his lips from ravishing hers. It’s the one small give he’s willing to bend on. A simple slip in the plan to allow his overwhelming urge to have her panting his name dampened by the dance of her lips against his. 

 

She’s an amazing kisser, because of course, the blonde girl who was good at everything  _ would _ be able to kiss like her life depended on it. For a split second, a sensation wells inside of him as he thinks of who else has this little tidbit of information stored in their own memories. His teeth nip at her lip and she arches against his body in response. Jealousy seems to fuel his need to push her over the edge, dripping wet, and begging him for more.

 

Jughead thinks of the hands that have lain where he now squeezes her breasts, fingers that have tweaked her nipple like this, and any other ears that have heard the perfect sounds currently assaulting him as she moans from his touch. His fingers dig in deeper, kneading her breast and pulling her forward until his lips drop to the supple skin and his teeth rake over the hardened peak.

 

Even if there have been others, he knows no one can touch her the way that he does. The intensity of his want is outmatched by anything he’s felt before, and the flush on her skin tells him hers is the same. She bends to his will as he guides her covered sex across the thick jeans guarding his length. Tongue swirling against the nub of her breast, teeth grazing the hardened skin, his fingers grip her hips and he pulls her forward then back again, over and over until he feels her arousal seeping through the layers between them. 

 

One hand leaves her hip and he brushes the soaked lace between her legs. He barely registers a strangled, “Please,” as he pushes the fabric to the side to drag his fingers through her dripping folds. 

 

His teeth meet taut flesh again with a bit more purpose this time as his fingers dip lower, teasing her entrance. Pulling back, he taunts her, settling on, “Please what, Princess?”

 

A fire burns in her eyes as she slowly whispers, “Please touch me.”

 

He tsks, tongue clicking at the roof of his mouth as he presses his back against the headboard with fingers still gathering her slickness. He wants so badly to be in control of his raging hormones, but the look in her eye and wetness coating his digits have his head spinning. Pushing forward, two fingers slip into her and his lips swallow the moan that escapes her at the stretch. Her hands are firmly planted on his shoulders as her hips rock against his fingers and her breathy moans only have seconds to spill out before he’s kissing her again.

 

-

 

The investigation and all things of consequence slip away the second his fingers slide into her sex. There’s just something about the no nonsense gesture without preamble or the necessity of a date or conversation before the exploratory moments that has her diving headlong into the fantasy of the night. 

 

It’s not her typical tryst, though at least she knows his name, it’s simply a madame doing her job, pleasing the client while riding a high of bliss herself. And Betty thinks she could certainly have had worse luck than Jughead Jones being her first, and although unknown to Penelope, only client. 

 

It really is a stroke of luck on her part, to fulfill a scene she’d only been able to orchestrate alone in her bedroom with a hand between her knees when she was in high school. Everything about him back then had been frustrating, from the smug smirk he wore around his fellow Serpents to the infuriating way his name always seemed to appear on the published honor roll despite the couldn’t care less attitude he seemed to exude. 

 

She hadn’t hated him back then, simply envied how someone could seemingly have the best of both worlds - school and socialization - without the consequences her mother had drilled into her head. She, on the other hand, was rarely let out of the house and only for instances that would bolster the extracurriculars she’d collected for years.

 

But as the pressure between her legs builds, and her nails press into his firm shoulders, she realizes it wasn’t just envy or disdain that had colored every image of him she’d ever had, it was a deep seated lust that only now roared to life under his ministrations. 

 

“Can you come like this, baby?” His words are muffled against her breast and she’s not sure she can form any of her own so she simply nods, still canting her hips against him in time with his own thrusts. She can, and she will, and then with a hard suck to her nipple and the pressure from his fingers tweaking the other, she does, in a way that makes her toes curl and legs quake for a solid minute following her release. 

 

The brush of his fingers against her swollen lips as he works her through her high has her leaning foward again, pressing her lips to his and relishing in the slickness between her thighs. When she pulls back, his pupils are blown wide and she’s sure hers do the same as she sees him suck two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the still soaked digits. 

 

Then her hips are grinding against him again in a slow, steady roll. 

 

He arches off the bed, pulling a foil packet from his pocket before pushing the jeans down just off his hips. Betty reaches down, her palm grazing his erection and humming at the firm feeling of him as she wraps her fingers around his length. 

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice laced with a gravely texture. His fingers wrap around her wrist and he pulls her hand back, using the other to push down his boxers. 

 

She pouts and his answering smug smile has her feeling rebellious again as she watches him roll on a condom and grip the base of his cock.  With only the tilt of her hips, she presses her center against the smooth latex and feels her lips spread around it. His hands fly to her hips and he pushes her down farther. She feels him twitch and moans in response, tilting her hips again to line him up against her entrance. Then, with no notice at all, she sinks down in one smooth motion. 

 

It’s a welcome stretch, a sting dancing between the thin border between pleasure and pain as she adjusts.

 

-

 

Jughead is certain this is some depraved dream and he’s going to wake up any second. Everything feels too surreal to actually be happening. He’s buried in her warmth and she’s moaning in his ear, his teeth are grazing her collarbone and his cock is so hard that he’s certain it’ll never be soft again. The way their bodies move together as she lifts her hips and slides up then back down feels as though he was crafted just to fit right between her legs. Like he was molded to be inside of her every second of every day. Nothing has ever felt so right yet so very wrong at the exact same time.

 

He may have come here with one goal in mind, but it’s far from even being relevant when compared to thick air filling the room as their bodies meet. He’s drinking in air that’s part his own and part hers, feeling a sensation that’s also equally a bit of them both, as their voices mingle into a chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘more’ including expletives that he’d never expect to spill from her typically pink painted lips. But she isn’t Betty, he reminds himself as he pulls her down over and over again, she’s B - and she wants him, and fuck if he doesn’t want her even more. 

 

B is dirty where Betty is clean, B’s mouth forms words she’d probably never even had the nerve to whisper, B’s tongue seers his skin instead of slinging sharp words. B is on top of him, and Betty’s a memory of an old high school crush. Time and distance had only served to help him separate the two as she rocks hard against him. 

 

He can feel himself building to release, the sweet sensation of her warm center tightening around him tells him she’s close too. Dropping a hand between them, he finds her pulsing nub and circles it as they both climb higher. 

 

Nothing exists at the peek of their tryst except each other. As he falls over the edge, twitching and groaning, she does the same, hands buried in his locks and fingernails pressed into his scalp. She whimpers for a moment before it morphs into a cry. And that sound, the single syllable that swells within her and spills out in time with her sex milking his release, is a word he had never expected to sound so sweet. ‘Jug’ - his name, his nickname, his moniker, bubbles up from within her and submerges him in his own lust fueled haze.

 

It takes another moment of them both rocking gently through their respective releases for it to even make sense. Then, as she shifts to pull off him, he realizes the weight of the implications his own name slipping from her lips carries. She knows who he is, he knows who she is, this may have been an act to begin with, but the fire between them and still simmering sense of needs is telling him an entirely different truth.

 

-

 

Betty’s bare feet pad across the concrete floor of the basement, a crimson robe wrapped around her outfit and she estimates she has approximately ten minutes before she has to fake sick and tell Penelope she appreciated the opportunity, but she doesn’t feel fit for the line of work. She rounds the corner of the basement and immediately covers the flashlight on her phone when she sees a beam of light streaming over the Jingle Jangle equipment she just  _ knew _ would be down here. From so far away, she can’t make out who is holding the light. Slinking back into a corner and shoving her still lit up phone between herself and the robe, she tries to stay as invisible as possible until she can see who else is down here.

 

A few moments later, the rough outline of still tousled locks approaches her, light swinging to illuminate her poorly covered form. “Sorry, I - I’m lost,” she tries to sound helpless, holding up a hand and tilting her head. The light draws closer until she sees something she nearly doesn’t believe - or rather, someone. 

 

Jughead lowers the light and that infuriating half smile tilts on the edge of his lips as he shakes his head. “You don’t actually work here do you, Betty?”

 

With wide eyes, she catches on. He knew it was her, she knew it was him, and now they both know the cover was far from effective. But what she doesn’t understand, and what spills from her lips is, “You aren’t a client, are you, Jughead?”

 

He shakes his head. “You caught me. I’ve been trying to figure out where the influx of Jingle Jangle has been coming from and I came here tonight to investigate. Dare I say, great minds think alike?”

 

Betty nods. “I guess so. I was researching an article and had a hunch the Blossom’s were to blame for the recent wave of Jingle Jangle deaths. Turns out we were both right.”

 

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says with a wink.

 

Betty feels heat creep onto her cheeks, she certainly wouldn’t be telling anyone, anyway. “Deal,” she offers, her hand stretched forward for a handshake.

 

Unexpectedly, he raises it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to the back of her hand. “Deal.”

 

Her thighs press together at the recent memory of those lips touching other parts of her body and although she won’t tell anyone, she can’t promise she won’t relive it in the privacy of her bedroom as her fingers try to mimic the exact motion of his. 

 

No, she won’t say anything aloud, simply moan it to herself in her dreams.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all SO much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little self indulgent fic!
> 
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated! (sorry in advance for taking ages to respond >.<)
> 
> Come find me on tumblr  buggghead 


End file.
